


Candied Violets

by Torpor



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Flirting, Canon-Typical Violence, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, They all need therapy, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:08:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25567213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Torpor/pseuds/Torpor
Summary: Five years after the fall of Garreg Mach, the Blue Lions keep their promise and return. They are reunited with Dimitri and their professor, but Dedue is still missing. Ashe grapples with the complicated emotions the loss brings, but right as he's finally ready to accept it, Dedue comes back into his life. He must now find the courage to act on the feelings that have been with him for so long.
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 3
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a oneshot to give me a break from my main project. I guess this is what happens when you just want good things for Ashe and Dedue. 
> 
> It's going to be between 3-5 chapters, but it probably won't be my last involving these boys. I hope everyone enjoys the story, please let me know how I'm doing!

He followed the familiar path towards the greenhouse, his heart aching in the silence. Everyone was so quiet–so sad–when they should be chatting and laughing. Everyone had changed so much in the five years they’d been apart, but one stood out more than the others. Dimitri was no longer their soft spoken leader. Something had happened that night in the Holy Tomb. He didn’t fully understand it, but he remembered the crunching of bone so well that sometimes his stomach still turned. His eyes–no, eye–was haggard and shadowed, but when he looked closer, he saw someone haunted. He didn’t agree with Felix’s assessment that he was a beast, but he wasn’t certain he could stand to argue with anyone. Not right now, at least.

There was nothing to be done about it at the moment anyway. There was no one in the world who could force Dimitri to do anything, least of all open up. Whatever awful things he’d been through would dog him until he chose to let down his guard, but it didn’t seem that he was particularly keen on letting any of them near. The only person he might allow close enough to help was…

_ Oh, Dedue… _

The name itself was enough to make him ache anew. Sweet, tender,  _ beautiful _ Dedue was gone. It was hard to believe, and even harder to accept. Ashe took a steadying breath and pushed the door open, the smell of plants and wet soil filling his nose as soon as he stepped inside. His lip quivered as he took in the mess, but he bit down on the inside of his cheek to quell his tears. Five years of neglect had taken their toll. Tools were scattered about, probably from the scavengers that had moved in after Garreg Mach fell. He knelt and inspected a pair of shears and found them a little rusted, but mostly functional. Certainly functional enough to serve his purposes.

The hardier plants like mint and berry bushes grew wild with impunity, choking out those that were more delicate. If he looked, he knew he would find their victims, but he didn't have the heart. Dedue would be sad to see the state of the place. He’d worked hard alongside the head gardener to keep it running smoothly. Many of his memories of the monastery were dominated by Dedue’s hands covered in soil and the sweet, spicy smell of cinnamon. Why didn’t he ever say anything? He’d been so afraid of being rejected that he’d not even had the courage to tell a boy so in need of it that he was loved. 

He picked up a clay pot and examined it, noting the cracks and algae that grew on the side. It was damaged, but probably still usable. He rubbed at the back of his neck, swearing quietly as he stooped to return the pot to where he’d found it. If he thought about how much there was to do just to get the monastery up to “passably inhabitable,” he would get overwhelmed, so he wouldn’t. He would just take it one step at a time and try to get the greenhouse plantable. His first order of business was getting the brambles beat back.

***

“Hey Ashe, we managed to scrape together something for supper. It’s…  _ edible _ , but definitely not delicious,” Annette said. Ashe rocked back on his heels and put his spade aside, wiping the loose soil from his hands onto his handkerchief.

“Okay. Let me get cleaned up, I’ll be there in a minute.” He studied his work for a moment, proud that he’d managed to clear as much space as he had. He still had a long way to go if he was going to get the berry bushes back where they belonged.

“Those blackberries really ate you up, didn’t they?” she asked, indicating his scratched forearms and knuckles, “you look like you’ve been wrestling with a wet cat.”

“Oh… yeah. I guess they did. There’s no need to worry about it, Annie. They’ll heal up fine on their own,” he said. He stood and knocked the dirt off his trousers and dropped all the tools he’d been using into a bucket nearby, and shrugged his gambeson on. He fell into step behind Annette; but paused on his way out as something caught his eye. 

“Annette! Look!” He pointed to a bed of arid soil and choked down the lump forming in his throat. 

“What is it?” she asked, peering closer. 

“The flowers from Duscur! They’re… they’re still alive!”

His voice wobbled and his eyes stung. What if Dedue was just as those flowers were? Still alive, and only waiting for someone to care enough to  _ look _ ? How did they really know that he was gone? They’d thought Dimitri was gone, too hadn’t they? But they found him.  _ Did we, though?  _ His hope died almost as soon as it had risen. If anyone were to have looked for Dedue, it would be Dimitri. If Dimitri said he was dead, then it would be bordering on hubris to doubt him. He started as he felt something touch his face, and found Annette dabbing at his cheek with her handkerchief, her blue eyes full of understanding and unshed tears of her own. 

“Come on, Ashe. Let’s get ready for supper. We’ll… we’ll deal with this later,” she said. He nodded and took a deep breath to steady himself, wiping away the rest of his tears with his sleeve. 

***

The mess hall was mostly empty, but at least it was clean now. The candles leant it a cozy look, despite how very barebones it all was. He settled down beside Mercedes, across from Sylvain. Ashe frowned as he studied the redhead across the table, completely unconvinced by the smile he shot him. His eyes told him all he needed to know: he was worried about something. Two seats remained empty, though only one had a meal waiting there.

“Where’s Pro–Byleth?” he asked. 

“Taking food to His Highness… he doesn’t seem to be much for socializing these days, but he’s gotta eat. He’s looking a little  _ hungry _ , you know?” Sylvain said. Ashe hummed and returned his gaze to his plate. Salt pork, some hard, crusty bread, and canned vegetables. It wasn’t particularly appetizing, but he couldn’t very well expect it to be. With luck, he would have the greenhouse at least somewhat operational by morning. He bit into the bread and tried not to wrinkle his nose at the strong taste of leavening. He washed it down with the wine they’d found earlier that day. It didn’t make it more enjoyable, but at least it would numb him to the sharp, salty tang of soda. 

Byleth joined them after a few moments, looking unusually distressed. They didn’t say anything as they sank down into their chair, they simply picked up their fork and started eating. The room was silent save for the sound of silverware on the few unbroken plates they’d managed to find. It was only after they’d finished eating that they turned to Byleth.

“So… is everything okay?” Annette asked. Byleth sighed and sipped their wine, stalling for a moment longer before finally shrugging. 

“I don’t know. He told me to ‘stay the fuck away’ from him, and nothing else. I just left his plate and wine there, hopefully he’ll eat. I think we need to be patient,” they said. Felix scoffed and pushed away from the table.

“Don’t waste your time with the Boar. He’s cracked. There’s nothing else to be done with him, just try not to get killed. I’m going to set some snares, we need real food if we’re going to follow that  _ animal _ into hell.”

The door slammed behind him, seemingly bringing all of the air in the room out with him. They all sat in silence, staring down at the table or their hands. How many of them agreed with Felix? How many agreed with Byleth? Ashe took a deep breath and pushed back from the table, stacking dishes for the washing. 

“I’ll help, Ashe. It’ll go faster with two of us,” Ingrid said. He murmured a quiet ‘thank you’ and together they brought the mess to the wide enameled sink. He worked the pump to draw water from the well and wrinkled his nose when the tap spat out rust colored liquid. It certainly hadn’t done  _ that _ five years ago. 

“The pipes are rusted. We’re going to have to do something about that if we’re staying here,” he called. Byleth slumped forward onto their elbows and nodded. Ingrid hummed and put her stack of dishes on the counter. 

“I’ll fetch us some water from the well. I’ll be right back.”

He moved to stoke the fire, and hung a large cast iron pot from the hook. It was ridiculous to be washing dishes in pots of hot water in such a modern kitchen. Ingrid returned and poured the bucket of water into the pot over the fire. He sprinkled in the lye heavy soap and waited for it to get hot. She left to gather one more bucket for the rinsing, and leaned heavily on the wooden work bench when she returned. 

“This isn’t how I expected this to go.” Ingrid’s voice was soft, and so very sad. He couldn’t say he blamed her, he was fairly sure they all felt something of the sort. They had found Dimitri–something they hadn’t expected to ever do–but he was so different than they remembered. Ingrid had known him since they were just children, he could only imagine how hard it was to see him that way. 

“Me either.” That was all he could muster at the moment. He wanted to reassure her, but what could he possibly say? There was too much regret and grief. All there was to do was acknowledge their feelings and try to carry on.

_ Focus on the small things. Don’t think so hard. _

***

He paused in the doorway of Dedue’s old room, but didn’t dare set foot inside. He could see light peeking out from under Byleth’s door, so they were still awake at the very least. How did they feel sleeping so close to where Dedue once was? How did they feel knowing that he was gone? He grit his teeth and forced himself away. He was  _ tired _ . Too tired to stand there pondering the sense of loss and guilt for too much longer. 

He sagged against the door, rubbing at the back of his neck. It was strange to be back in this room after so many years. It hadn’t changed all that much, truth be told. Once he’d gotten it cleaned up, it was easily recognizable as his, though many of the books and scrolls he’d had were missing or irreparably damaged. His old journal was still in the drawer, and still legible, though there was nothing in there he needed. He didn’t need to be reminded of Lonato’s senseless death, or his awkward attempts at recognizing the feelings blooming inside. He understood them better now, but it was too late. He tossed the tome back into the drawer and slammed it closed, the sudden burst of anger almost startling him. 

He was too irritable to sleep. His skin felt tight and hot, his eyes ached, his chest burned. He wanted to scream and throw things, swear and cry. He was no stranger to this feeling, he’d known grief many times already. It was starting to seem that was all there was in the world. He flung himself back into the cool night and stormed across the grounds, towards the greenhouse. If he couldn’t sleep yet, then he could at least get some work done. 

He nearly yelped when he opened the door and found the greenhouse occupied. Dimitri stood there with his back turned to the door, his head bowed as if in prayer. He didn’t move when he heard Ashe enter, he simply continued to keep vigil. He looked so huge and menacing in the darkness, his broad back widened even further by the fur mantle draped across it. Ashe took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. Something told him it was in his best interest not to appear shaken.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were in here. I’m going to get some work done on the weeding, if you don’t mind,” he said. Dimitri turned his head slightly, his eye standing out starkly in the moonlight; it was like being caught in the gaze of something fae and baleful.  _ Dangerous. _

“Do what you want. I’m leaving.” His voice was no longer that smooth, easy tone he’d used back then; it had become a harsh, chesty growl that raised the hair on the back of his neck. All of the signs told him to fear the person their Prince had become, and yet… he didn’t, not entirely at least. Where Felix saw a monster, he saw a wolf in a trap. Hurting, afraid, and lashing out at both real and imagined threats. 

“You don’t have to, I wouldn’t mind a little company, Dima,” he said. Dimitri paused, cocking his head towards him once more, listening instead of looking. 

“Do not call me that. That boy is dead, you would do well to bury him.”

“He’s standing right in front of me. You look alive enough to me,” Ashe said. Perhaps it was foolhardy to speak to him that way, but something told him that if Dimitri were going to hurt him, he would have already. 

“Believe whatever you want.” Dimitri made a hasty retreat, vanishing into the darkness as a wraith might. His footsteps were disturbingly quiet for a man so large. He really had changed. 

Ashe closed the door and turned towards the overgrown mess before him. It was best to pick up where he’d left off, so he turned his back to the patch with the Duscuran flowers and sank to his knees. The moonlight streaming through the glass ceiling was barely enough to work by, but he didn’t need to know what was a weed and what was something rare. Most of that which was rare had either died, or was further in. He hummed quietly as he worked, trying to keep his mind focused only on what he was doing, but the longer he went, and the more the silence settled in around him, the more he found himself thinking about the past. 

He and Dedue had planted a patch of violets together not long before everything went to hell. He could remember with perfect clarity the moment Dedue had reached out to brush a bit of dirt away from his cheek, his fingers lingering a little too long before they both pulled away, embarrassed. If he’d had the courage, he would have told him then that he loved him. Now he was only left with his memories, the regret, and those words burned into his mind. He tasted tears and tried to rein himself in, but he couldn’t stop them once they began to flow. The hysteria he’d worked to keep under control broke through and the silence was shattered by a strangled scream. 

_ He hated it _ . He hated how every time he let himself care about someone, they died. Christoph, Lonato, Dedue… his mother and father.  _ They _ had been where it all began. Only Brigitte and Klaus remained. He was aware of the sound of a pot shattering, though he barely remembered throwing it. He snarled and fought when he felt arms wrap around his shoulders, but they clung incessantly and he had no choice but to turn and acknowledge them. 

Byleth took his face between their palms, their eyes bright and full of understanding. They sank to the ground together and Ashe allowed himself to collapse against their chest, sobbing in earnest. He hadn’t allowed himself the luxury when Lonato had died, but he couldn’t hold it back anymore. All those years of choking down the pain and shame came flooding out of him at once and he clung to his old teacher like a lifeline. They shushed and rocked him, rubbing steadily at his back. They smelled like leather and oiled steel. They were warm and solid. He was unspeakably grateful for their presence. 

“I’m sorry…” he whimpered, burying his face against their shoulder. 

“I know, it’s okay. I  _ understand _ ,” they said. 

They held him until the sobbing and shaking stopped, and when it was over, he was too exhausted to even lift his head. They sat together in relative silence, listening to the night birds sing and cry out. At length, Ashe sat up straight and wiped away the tears, feeling embarrassed now that he was able to think beyond the misery.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“You don’t need to apologize, Ashe. Things are…  _ hard _ . Come on, we should get to bed. It’s late.

There was nothing more to say, and he was glad for it. He didn’t want to talk about it anymore. He allowed them to lead him out of the greenhouse and across the yard, back towards the living quarters. They exchanged silent nods and this time when he closed the door, he snuffed his lamp, kicked off his boots, and collapsed upon the bed. The oblivion of sleep found him quickly, but not quickly enough to keep the memory of moss green eyes and warm, smooth bronze skin away.

_ In a better life… _

***

“Ashe!” 

His head jerked up at Annette’s alarmed cry, and rose to his feet as he watched her charge across the lawn towards him. He wiped his hands and chewed on his lip, worry building in the pit of his stomach. Annette was prone to panic, but this was different. His gut told him something bad was happening, just out of sight.

“What is it?” he asked, once she was close enough. She doubled over, huffing to catch her breath. She must have been running for quite a while. 

“We have a problem. Ingrid spotted troops marching towards us, Imperial ones. We need to prepare for battle,” she said. He felt himself go numb. He knew it would happen eventually– _ of course _ it would–but he had somehow managed to trick himself into thinking it wouldn’t be any time soon. He had expected to have time to prepare. He followed after Annette, memories of five years prior surfacing as he realized where they were heading. It really was sickeningly familiar. The few ragtag forces they had were already hard at work fortifying their position under the watchful eyes of Gilbert and Seteth. Byleth stood off to the side, speaking with Sylvain and Ingrid, and they waved when they saw him. 

“We need you on the ballista. We have a plan, but we need to keep them off our runners when they make a break for the munition stores,” Byleth said. He nodded and inspected the ballista’s arms and string, and then its wench. It was in decent condition considering how long it had sat. 

“We replaced what we could. It should be operational, at least,” Gilbert called. There weren’t that many bolts, but hopefully it would be enough. He adjusted its position and began to wind the strings back. It groaned and creaked as the arms began to draw, but it held. He placed the first bolt into position and took the time to get his bearings. 

Shamir and Catherine had joined them just the night before, bringing many knights with them. Their presence was the only reason he had any confidence at all. Shamir had taken up a position at the lower ballista, and he could see Annette tucked between two buildings at the lower fire orb, and Flayn stood ready at the one to his left. Dimitri paced back and forth, mumbling to himself at the top of the stairs, his hands clenching and relaxing. He was agitated and almost quivering from the strain of holding himself back, like an arrow on an over stressed bowstring. Byleth approached him and murmured something quietly to him.

“I’ll comply,” he grumbled, and immediately resumed his pacing. Ashe turned away as the erratic movements began to make him anxious, and focused on the doors ahead of them instead.

They had been badly damaged during the last siege. They’d made some repairs, but most of what they had done would only buy them a few minutes. It was their traps and fortifications that would make up for the loss of truly sturdy doors. He held his breath as the roar of armored soldiers and charging horses finally reached them. He rested his hand on the lever, his heart hammering in his chest.

The doors groaned as something heavy slammed against them, cracked as it struck again, and then splintered and gave way when the third blow came. Ashe held his breath and pulled the lever as the first Falconknight swooped inside. The pegasus and its rider screamed as the heavy bolt hit true, sending them both crashing to the stones below in a rain of blood and feathers. There had been a time when he would feel remorseful, but it had passed. There was simply no place for it anymore. He cranked the arms back once more while Shamir lined up her shot and took it. By the time he was ready for another, the others had already advanced and formed a blockade among the wood and wire barricades. He could see Catherine advancing along the side with her team. 

He could hear the rush of magic, the screeching of wyverns, the flutter of wings. He loosed another bolt when another Falconknight swooped too close to Mercedes. _Thunk!_ _Thunk!_ Dead. There was a rhythm to this sort of battle. Crank the wench. Wait. Shoot. Crank. Wait. He preferred being in the thick of things. It allowed him to focus more on surviving and protecting the ones he cared about. Being above it, picking off individuals like this was too intimate. 

His next bolt missed its target, bounced off the cobbled path, and skidded to a halt near the front line. He paused in his effort to wench back the arms for his next shot when he saw Dimitri bend down to pick it up, inspect it briefly, and hurl it at the advancing vanguard. It shattered against a man’s breastplate and sent him staggering backwards. He didn’t get up when he fell. Whether he was dead or simply incapacitated was impossible to tell, and it didn’t matter. Ashe aimed and waited. This was his last bolt, he needed to make sure it counted. 

It was a knight on the back of a wyvern this time. He pulled the lever and curled his lip at the sound of crunching bones as it fell dead across the roof of one of the small buildings. The timbers gave way after a moment, and the carcass disappeared in a puff of dust. He took his bow in hand and nocked an arrow, preparing himself for the next leg of the battle. He rushed down the stairs and stood near Annette, keeping his eyes trained on the air. He had faith in those on the front lines, his job was to pick off those that made it through.

“Ashe!” He whirled at the sound of his name and met Shamir halfway.

“What’s going on?” he shouted.

“They made it into the cache. It won’t be long now,” she said. He nodded and nocked another arrow, taking shots here and there as their front line fell back, pulling their enemies deeper inside. They whooped and cheered as they followed their retreat, as though victory was at hand. Dimitri was the last one back behind the barricades, but once he was clear, hell busted open.

He felt a deep rumble, and then the ground beneath the Imperial troops swelled, sending many of them to their backs or asses just as it ripped open, sending dirt and bodies flying. His ears popped several times and he could feel the heat even where he was, but it was nothing compared to what their enemies had faced. Those that hadn’t been directly in the blast staggered away or froze–panicked–as the fires continued to burn around them. 

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of crackling flames and pained groans, but it didn’t take long for Byleth to give the order to advance once more. Dimitri was already throwing himself back into the fray, his strength and speed making those that were still reeling easy targets; but he wasn’t alone. Felix cut them down with as little effort, and seemingly as little remorse. 

_ And what about me? _

He banished the thought as he loosed another arrow, which lodged itself in the unarmored thigh of an enemy mage. She screamed and toppled backwards, and was promptly ended by a blow from Seteth’s axe, before his wyvern took to the sky once more. He ignored the sense of guilt her death brought in favor of listening to the  _ ‘twang’ _ of his bowstring. It snapped forward over and over, sending his arrows flying towards his targets with surety. A scream to his right broke the soothing spell his bow’s natural timbre had cast, and he whirled to find a man bearing down on an injured Annette. She clutched her bleeding arm close, her face contorted in fear and pain. He pulled his dagger and threw himself at the man, burying the blade into his side, between his ribs.

He howled in pain and slammed his fist into Ashe’s nose. Ashe ripped his weapon free and staggered back with a snarl, fighting to blink away the tears and black spots popping into his vision. He heard Annette murmur quietly, and heard the rush of wind before the man screamed; the blades of air slicing through him like a knife through butter. 

“Ashe! Are you okay?” she asked, rushing to his side. 

“I’m fine. What about you?” He inspected her arm carefully. It was still bleeding, but nothing Mercedes or Flayn couldn’t fix. She pressed her handkerchief to the cut and nodded, though her eyes were a little glassy for his liking.

“I’ll be okay. We should–” a sickening crack and a pained scream cut through the air and silenced them. Ashe turned and saw the enemy General laying on his stomach, with Dimitri’s foot planted solidly on his lower back.

“Capture him.” 

_ As if he could get away now… _

Ashe jolted as he felt a gentle hand on his elbow, “Come on, Ashe… let’s go see Mercie.”

They turned and hurried away, neither willing to see what their old friend would do next. For what felt like the thousandth time since they’d been reunited, Ashe wished beyond all impossibility that Dedue was there; but maybe it was best if he didn't see what had happened to Dimitri in his absence.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dedue makes his way back to Dimitri's side after a long absence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to update this, I got distracted by my outline. 
> 
> Since Dedue is a Portuguese name, I stuck with that for the other Duscuran characters. Anacleto means 'one who is called back.' 
> 
> Hopefully there aren't any 't' related typos. That key popped off my laptop and now it's hard to hit it lol.

His back ached as he leaned down to tug the laces of his boots tight. He was still stiff from his injuries, but that he’d recovered at all was all to the credit of his brethren. He rolled his shoulder and slung his pack on, turning his neck this way and that, listening as it cracked. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” 

Dedue turned towards the voice, feeling a strange sense of loss as he looked at the man in the doorway. Anacleto frowned, but the worry in his eyes was easy to see. He’d done so much for him since he’d come here, but he had a duty to fulfill, a promise to keep. He couldn’t hide here forever.

“I am. If His Highness lives, I must return to him. We have much left to do.”

It would be a lie to say that it was only duty that would bring him back to Dimitri’s side. The truth was that he loved him. The ‘how’ didn’t matter to him. He was neither brother nor lover, there was no name to place upon him that fit. So ‘love’ was the only thing he could call it. One day, he would say so. When they could stand toe to toe as men, rather than master and vassal. 

“Why do you prostrate yourself before him? You are a proud man of Duscur, not a dog. He is part of what destroyed us,” Anacleto said. Dedue bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep the anger swelling within him in check. Anacleto didn’t understand. That was all.

“I am not proud. Pride is a dangerous thing, my friend, especially for us.”

“Pride would do you well. You have forgotten your place in the world, Dedue. I worry about what that might mean for us later.”

Dedue frowned and squared his shoulders, his irritation at last reaching something that he could express. He couldn’t blame his friend for questioning his loyalty, but for this? Yes.

“I have forgotten nothing, Anacleto. My loyalty is to His Highness, not Faerghus. I feel your anger, but we need more than that, my friend. We need help. We cannot win alone.”

Anacleto sighed and nodded, rubbing at the back of his neck. They both knew that this was not a battle to win on the field, but rather in the Court, with political allies and a deft touch. 

“I see your point. I apologize, I didn’t mean to imply that you had forgotten your love for our home. Are you ready? We have a long trip,” he said.

“I’m ready. Let’s be on our way.”

***

He groaned as he sank down onto a fallen log, unwrapping his lunch with patient hands. It had been a long time since he’d travelled so far—in full armor, no less—but he was making decent time, all things considered. He should arrive at Garreg Mach by supper time, thanks to Anacleto. He tugged the scarf he’d been gifted more tightly around his neck as a chilly spring breeze blew through the trees. After all these years, he still wasn’t entirely used to Faerghus’ cold. 

He stretched his legs out in front of him and popped a dried slice of apple into his mouth. There were many things that reminded him of Dimitri, but apples meant ‘Ashe’ in his mind. He could almost smell the flakey, buttery crust and sweetly tart scent of the filling. He’d enjoyed quite a few pies since coming to Fodlan, but he found Ashe’s to be the best. He went neither too heavy nor too light on the spices or brandy. It was almost second nature to linger on a freckled, flour smudged cheek—flushed pink with embarrassment—and wonder how it would feel to bend down and press a kiss to his soft, bow shaped mouth. 

He’d never had the courage to tell him how he thought of him. He’d contented himself with his easy, unconditional friendship. That was all he’d thought he wanted, and more than he deserved. Now though… now he wondered if there had been more to it for them both. He washed his lunch down with a long swig from his canteen and considered Ashe’s bright eyes and dark lashes. He would follow these feelings if they ever saw each other again. Even if they led nowhere, he needed to know. He stood and brushed away the stray crumbs from his biscuit, ready to begin his trek anew. 

***

The stone turrets were the first thing he saw, sticking up over the trees like long fingers, beckoning to him. He picked up the pace and soon found himself on the long stone bridge that would see him to the gate. He stopped before a pair of knights who sized him up and shared a quick glance. He didn’t need to see their faces to know that his presence confused them.

“Long time no see, Dedue. You’re looking well,” a voice called. He looked up and saw pro—no, just Shamir now—up on the wall, her gaze as sharp as it ever was.

“Shamir.”

She leapt down from her perch, scrutinizing him for a long moment. Normally such a close examination would make him self-conscious, but he was comfortable enough with her not to worry. After a few moments, she smiled.

“You just missed everyone else. They left about two hours ago,” she said.

“Everyone else?” His heart tightened in his chest, but he didn’t dare acknowledge the hope yet.

“Mmhm. All your old classmates, your professor… Dimitri too.”

Something in her hesitation set him on edge. What was it about Dimitri that gave her pause? She seemed to sense his mood, for she heaved a sigh and shrugged.

“He’s fine… physically, anyway. Don’t expect anything when you see him, though. He’s… not doing okay.”

_ Ah. _

“I see. So he has ceased trying to hide it, has he?”

It was easy to forget that the others had never seen Dimitri’s less than ideal moments. That he finally broke apart didn’t surprise him at all. It had been a long time coming, all thanks to the stress of his station and the expectations it brought. Faerghus was a land of bravely suffering through pain and grief. He didn’t understand it, but Dimitri was mired in it.

_ Ashe, too. _

Yes, Ashe too was sunk deeply into the muck of Faerghus’ misery cult. He longed to be a knight, and in Faerghus that meant that he would suffer for it. Dedue huffed to himself. He disliked that aspect of Faerghus almost as much as he disliked its rigidity and prejudices. 

“You’d know better than I would,” Shamir said.

“Where did they go?” he asked. 

“Myrddin. Gronder field is next, as you can imagine. Why don’t you rest for a bit before you take off?” 

“There’s no time. If they’re marching for Gronder, then I’d like to catch up… I fear for His Highness.”

If he were truly as bad off as Shamir seemed to think, then his safety was hardly at the forefront of his mind. He needed to make his way to his side immediately. Shamir sighed and reached back into her satchel, pulling a few ampules of medicine from within. 

“Well, at least take these. Do you have anything to eat? Water?”

“I have some rations, you needn’t worry. Thank you, Shamir. I trust you’ll be here when we return?” he asked. She nodded, her expression grim.

“Then I shall see you again soon. Take care,” he said. 

He turned away and tucked the medicine into his satchel. Once again he was glad for Anacleto’s kindness. His map would be instrumental to finding a quicker way to the Great Bridge. He could only hope that he wouldn’t arrive too late.

***

The sound of battle reached him before he saw anything. He lengthened his stride and rushed up the final few steps. A man with a bow stepped into view and he readied his axe, which he used without hesitation as his opponent readied an arrow. His shocked scream brought eyes upon him, and he couldn’t help the feeling of joy as he gazed upon each familiar face. Annette’s eyes widened in shock, Mercedes was already close to tears, but it was Dimitri that brought him the most comfort. 

“Dedue?!” he asked, his once smooth voice gruff and low, as if from disuse. 

“It’s me.” 

Dimitri stumbled towards him, his single blue eye wide with disbelief. No doubt he thought him to be one of the phantoms that clawed at him at all hours. He gripped his shoulder, his shocked expression turning to one of sadness. 

“Never sacrifice yourself again. Understand?” he asked. Dedue’s heart ached at the exhausted, haunted look of him. He knew he was at least partially responsible for it. He knew how Dimitri would react, but the thought of him dying was unbearable. Still… his guilt was a heavy burden.

“I… yes. I understand.”

Dimitri’s expression turned to one of relief before smoothing into one of apathy. He had chosen a new mask it seemed. One that hid his misery behind cold indifference. 

“Good. Now let’s go.”

***

The mood in camp was a somber one. The enemy had fallen, but there had been familiar faces among them. He remembered Ferdinand’s glassy eyes and broken body a little too well for comfort, but at least he had the benefit of knowing he hadn’t suffered. Dimitri had seen to it. Lorenz survived, and was now sitting in the healer’s tent, his wounds mending. It was a bright spot among the bitterness.

“Dedue?” 

He tensed and turned towards the new voice, locking eyes with Ashe for the first time in five years. He’d grown handsome in the time they’d been apart. His face had sharpened, his eyes less wide, his cheeks less soft. His silvery hair still looked soft, and he itched to touch it.

“Ashe… it’s good to see you.”

“Yeah… you too.” 

They stood there awkwardly, searching each other’s faces for a long moment before Ashe’s eyes welled with tears and he flung himself into Dedue’s arms. He didn’t sob or even really sniffle. He just clutched at his shirt and shook silently. It felt good to hold him. He was small, but solid and strong. His arms slipped around Dedue’s waist and squeezed. 

“You’ve gotten taller,” Dedue said. Ashe gave him a thin, weary laugh, pulling back to look up into his eyes. 

“I’m surprised you noticed. I haven’t grown that much, truth be told.” 

“I notice. You’re looking well.” 

They pulled back and Ashe looked down at his feet, his cheeks blushing a soft shade of rose. He wanted to cup his cheeks and bring their lips together, but it was too soon. They had much to discuss first.

“So are you. I’m so glad you’re alive… when we heard that we lost you, I… I could hardly believe it. Now I’m glad I never fully accepted it.” 

There was something he wanted to say. Dedue could tell in the way he kept peeking through his eyelashes at him. He wouldn’t force it. Whatever it was, he would wait. He hoped it was the same thing he himself had to say. He opened his mouth, ready to suggest that they walk together, but another voice spoke instead.

“Dedue.” Dimitri’s tone was commanding, but the look in his eye was desperate. Their talk would have to wait.

“Excuse me for a bit. Will you meet me at the greenhouse after supper?” he asked.

“O-oh… um, sure. I’ll see you then.”

Dedue bowed slightly and followed after Dimitri, fighting down the desire to look back. They would see each other again soon. He just needed to be patient. 

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashe and Dedue come to terms with their feelings and agree to talk about them after the battle at Gronder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what's going on with my writing lately but it's been feeling weirdly flat. It's really making me not want to do it. Let me know if this is just me or if there's actually something wrong.

Ashe paced and panicked while he waited. Where was Dedue? He’d said to meet him in the greenhouse after supper, but he hadn’t  _ come _ to supper. He’d chosen to take his meal with Dimitri to ensure that the Prince ate.

He knew it was the logical thing to do. It made sense to ensure the man took care of himself; and yet… Ashe couldn’t help the bitter feelings welling up within him. He knew what it was he felt, but he didn’t want to voice it. He wanted to ignore it and pretend that he wasn’t feeling anything at all, but… that jealousy was stubborn. 

Dedue had confided in him that Dimitri had saved his life. What was he next to that? How could he compete with Dimitri at his best? 

At his best, Dimitri was beautiful and kind. He was soft-spoken, polite, and even elegant in his own way. He was many things he was not, and if it came down to it, he knew what Dedue would choose. Everything was secondary to Dimitri. 

He paused in his pacing and raked a hand through his hair. He was reading too much into this. He and Dedue were friends. His friend probably just wanted to catch up with him and spend a little time doing something they both enjoyed. Dedue had not indicated that he wanted anything more, and it was wrong of him to project his own feelings onto him this way.

_ Get it together… _

***

“You have feelings for Ashe,” Dimitri said. The statement was matter-of-fact and direct in a way that he wouldn’t have been five years ago. 

“... yes.”

“Then tell him. Life is short and happiness is hard to find.”

Dedue watched as he knelt and sorted through the rubble, almost as though he were considering cleaning it up. Instead, he crushed a piece of stone in his hand and allowed the pieces to slip through his fingers. 

“I am a man of Duscur, I do not wish to make his life more difficult than it needs to be.”

Dimitri looked back at him, his eye bright and sharp, like a shard of glass. He watched him for a long moment, his gaze captivating in the same way a predator’s might be.

“Horseshit,” he said, crushing another stone. “I’ll take care of the ones who put that idea in your head.”

Dedue didn’t have the heart to tell him that his own friend was one of these people. He didn’t want to know how Dimitri would react, nor what he would do to her if he was truly serious. Though he disliked Ingrid, he didn’t want her to see her hurt.

“Why are you still here? Aren’t you supposed to meet him?”

“I worry about you,” Dedue said.

“Then don’t.”

Dimitri scoffed and stood, finally turning towards him. He looked haggard and thin; his skin sallow and hair lank. The only thing that was truly recognizable as ‘Dimitri’ was that eye. Though clouded with pain and exhaustion, there was no mistaking it. How did he expect him not to worry?

“Your Highness, I humbly ask that you rest,” Dedue said.

“There is no rest for me, they don’t allow it. Not until I succeed, or die. Go to him. Find your happiness and let the past keep me.”

It was a plea. There was no bite to his words, no anger. It was nothing but the plea of a lost, pained man. Dedue didn’t move. How could he? He didn’t trust Dimitri to be alone. Before, he worried that he would neglect himself, but now he worried he would hurt himself. Ashe would understand it when he explained himself.

“I will stay.”

“You’re going to waste your time on me instead of moving forward with your life? Fool.”

“You aren’t a waste of my life, my heart is big enough for both of you. Ashe will understand when I speak to him later, but I would rather not leave your side right now.”

Dimitri huffed and all the bluster blew out of him, leaving him looking deflated and weary. He sank down to the floor, his back pressed against the wall.

“Do what you want then, stubborn fool.”

His head fell forward onto his knees, and he went still. Dedue watched as he sagged under his own weight and the rise and fall of his shoulders became more rhythmic and even. Asleep, just like that. He settled in and prepared to watch over him. Dimitri was never a deep sleeper, but he had a feeling that was even more true now.

His thoughts turned to Ashe, and guilt stabbed at his heart. Sweet, thoughtful Ashe…

_ Please understand… _

***

“Do you think I’m being unreasonable? I mean… I know Dimitri is  _ really _ important to him, but… I mean… I don’t know. Maybe I’m just touchy because he just came back.”

Annette shook her head and stood, taking him by the shoulders to stop his pacing.

“I think you’re jealous, and jealousy is inherently unreasonable. Maybe you should give him a few days? Like you said, he  _ just _ got back and Dimitri really isn’t doing okay. Can you really blame him for putting that first?” she asked. 

Ashe rubbed his face and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. She wasn’t wrong. He  _ was _ jealous. He hated it. He wanted to be perfectly kind and reasonable, patient and understanding, but he couldn’t. He was only a man, and he was in love.

“Goddess, I know you’re right, but… I can’t help it. I… I love him.” 

It felt good to say it aloud. Maybe it wasn’t appropriate. Maybe such a handsome, good man could never want a street rat like him. Maybe Dedue would be disgusted by his feelings, but he would risk that rejection for a chance to be with him.

_ What a man… _

“You okay? Your demeanor just completely changed. Was that some kind of huge revelation or something? Because I knew that already.”

Annette’s tone was gentle and teasing. Ashe huffed and allowed himself to relax against the door, smiling softly.

“No, it’s not really that… I think you’re just… right. I feel better now. Thank you for listening to me, Annie.”

“Well, yeah! We’re friends, I’ll always listen. I’ll tell you what Mercie always tells me: feel it and let it go. Nothing good can come from jealousy, Ashe,” she said.

“I know, you’re right. I’ll do my best to let go of it… I just hope he’s not grossed out by my feelings for him.”

“Grossed out? No, I don’t think he will be. Surprised maybe, but I don’t think it’ll gross him out. I think he’d be nuts not to want to try it. Give yourself more credit, Ashe.”

Annette yawned then, and Ashe followed suit. It was getting late, and they had a long march ahead. Gronder field was next… oh, the difference five years could make. The last time had been so much fun, but he knew better than to think this would be anything other than heartbreaking.

“I think we should turn in soon,” he said. 

“Yeah… probably so. ‘m sleepy.”

Ashe nodded and turned the doorknob, letting himself out into the chilly spring evening. He would worry about all this if they survived the coming battle. 

***

“Ashe.”

He turned towards Dedue’s voice, his heart stilling. He watched as he shifted anxiously, as if expecting anger. Ashe took a breath and smiled.

“What’s wrong, Dedue?”

“I… didn’t mean to break our appointment last night, it’s just that…”

“I understand, it’s alright. Dimitri’s health and safety are important, and he’s not doing so great. Does he let you help?”

He was genuinely curious. The Prince snarled and snapped at everyone else, but surely Dedue…

“Not exactly. He… lets me stay nearby, and he slept last night, but he won’t let me check him for wounds or tend his armor.”

“Is he eating?” Ashe asked. 

“Meagerly. He claims he’s not hungry. I worry.”

Ashe hummed, all sense of jealousy forgotten as concern took its place. Helping his friend was far more important.

“Perhaps we should try bone broth? Maybe heavier meals are hard on him right now. Something light but nutritious could help. I’ve been saving bones for this, so we can try it tomorrow morning. It should be finished by then if we start it now.”

“Yes, I think that’s a good idea. If it helps, then I’ll be happy.”

Ashe nodded, and together, they made their way towards the kitchen. Ashe ran down the list of vegetables and herbs in his head, already thinking of how best to make it appetizing for the Prince. Would beef or venison be best? Perhaps both?

“Do we have vinegar?” Dedue asked.

“Of course! No kitchen is complete without it!” 

Dedue chuckled, and the sound swept over him like a loving caress. Five long years… 

“You have a nice laugh.”

The words were out before he could stop himself. Dedue’s cheeks flushed, and he coughed awkwardly, but here was a soft smile on his handsome face. 

“Thank you. I… you have a lovely smile.”

Ashe’s breath caught in his throat as Dedue reached out, brushing his hair away from his eyes. They were supposed to be cooking, but Ashe felt as if he had cotton in his ears. Dedue was the only thing he could think of. He was so strong… he smelled of fresh linens and jasmine tea… his embrace had felt so wonderful…

A throat being cleared broke the spell, and they each took a step back. Sylvain grinned gently at them, and though it embarrassed him, Ashe couldn’t find it in himself to regret it.

“We’ll… talk about this later,” Dedue said. Ashe sighed as giddiness took hold, and he allowed himself to smile. 

“Yeah… later.”

  
  



End file.
